


Breadcrumbs of blood

by Taikida



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, hurt! d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taikida/pseuds/Taikida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan awakens in the forest, alone, bleeding, with no memory how or why he is outside Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breadcrumbs of blood

The black stallion nuzzled his arm, and d'Artagnan sat up gasping with the pain in his head, right side ribs and his lower right arm, looking around in the forest, how had he ended up here?

Tenax butted him softly again and d'Artagnan patted him with his left hand, as he glanced down at his right arm, it was broken or dislocated in the wrist, Tenax made a little humming sound as he butted him again.

“Tenax, stop it, I am awake...” d'Artagnan said as he gripped the black mane pulling himself up from the forest floor, his left arm around the dark neck, the horse keeping his head low to allow the Gascon regain his balance. 

Forest, outside Paris, how and why was he out here? Tenax made another impatient quiet nicker and the young musketeer turned to his horse again, he needed to look the horse over for injuries. He carefully put his wounded limb into his leather coat, biting back a groan as the pain reverberated throughout his body. He took a hold of the saddle as he looked the horses legs over, he saw nothing but a small swelling of Tenax's left knee, and a bloodied scrape downwards towards the hoof on the same leg. d'Artagnan patted the horse as he wondered again how he had ended up in the forest, at least two hours ride from the city. He didn't remember anything, he had, he had spoken with Treville, he looked over the saddle, saw no clue there either. No dispatchers bag, nothing of the like, not a clue. He looked around, wiping away the blood running down his forehead, blood? He stared at his bloodied hand and then touched his head again, blood was flowing freely from a gash at the side of his head, and it hurt. 

He had to get back to Paris, to the others, why would he have left the city on his own, he rarely rode out on his own these days. But had he done it now? He didn't remember, just couldn't remember, what if his friends laid dead or wounded somewhere nearby needing his help and he and no recollection of it.

“Athos? Aramis? Porthos?” d'Artagnan called out as loud as his bruised ribs would allow him, but no answers called back. Tenax butted him again and stepped forward as bidding him to get on, and the Gascon clumsily got into the saddle, holding onto the pommel with his hand, as Tenax walked forward, limping ever so slightly. d'Artagnan swayed slightly in the saddle, as they started back towards the city, the young man looking around for any signs, anything that might allow his to remember what he was doing there but nothing came to mind. Tenax continued onwards, the limp growing a little more and more, but the stubbornness of the great horse was not to be trifled, he had decided to carry his rider to safety and he was not to give up because of some pain.

“Athos!?” d'Artagnan continued to call for his friends as his horse walked forward, his headache was increasing, and there was no signs of his friends, no clues of why he was there. He just needed to get home.


End file.
